I had decided to start adding to my erotic art photography portfolio. Since my end results were primarily high contrast black and white, I wanted to delve into a more licentious subject matter. Porn can easily become art with just a small change in lighting and removing the color from the prints.

I wanted to photograph the contrast between the flesh of a hard-bodied male and a soft, curvy female. The two posing for me did not know each other. I knew each of them in my own weird social circles, though, so their comfort level with me translated well into a pseudo-comfort with each other. And their bodies looked exquisite together.

I made them hold poses for 5-10 minutes, sometimes difficult poses, until I got the angle of light and the angle of the shot “just so”. The proximity of their nakedness and my scrutiny resulted in this beautiful agony of arousal for them both. I asked if they would feel comfortable doing some poses of vaginal penetration for me, and they readily agreed. His thick cock and her diminutive outer labia really lent a “skewered and spread wide” filthy quality to the joining of the contrast in flesh. Her cunt was a glistening, split peach just swallowing his marble hard cock.

Each penetrative pose that I had them hold for such agonizingly long minutes added to their subtle desperate arousal. I wasn’t stupid; I knew what I was doing, what I was creating. She was laid back on a table, while he was standing. Her ass raised up off the table a few inches, and her legs wrapped around his hips for added support, left her body in this downward slant away from him. I had them hold a position of his cock halfway inside of her. As I stood next to her head I bent forward to get a different close-up angle and my long hair trailed over her breasts. I could see the controlled, but rapid, rising and falling of her chest as she did her best to remain stoic. Almost imperceptibly she started pumping her hips to get the friction her cunt was craving. I laid a cool hand on her mound, looked back at her, and sternly told her to be still – she was blurring the shot. Privately though I was grinning; I was pulling their strings so well.

I asked them to adjust slightly so that the current position was more exaggerated – I wanted to get a different angle and needed more space but the same depth of penetration. When I noticed how very wet she was, I used one finger to redistribute it from her cunt opening up to her clit and labia. A firm, slow, touch that teased his cock and her clit. As I did it I locked eyes with him; we smiled at each other when we heard her whispered moan as my finger grazed her swollen clit. It was his turn to groan when I sucked her juices off my finger before continuing. When I looked at her I could see the pink flush creeping across her breasts and face, I knew her breathing was more labored. She looked so beautiful, so overcome with lust, so tortured. I moved the accent light, I slowly walked around them to snap a few more shots. I instructed him to slowly penetrate her almost to the hilt and then lean his body backward. When he did this, I watched her face. Her eyes closed and her lips parted to a slight “o”; the furrowed brow came next and I snapped a few photos of her face for my own use. Then I spread her labia around his cock, a pair of lips in a kiss. Another quick graze over her clit just to be sadistic. A few more shots and I noticed his breathing was getting more shallow and rapid, his eyes closing, his face the same portrait of pleasure as hers.

“What is she doing?” I asked him.

“She’s…..I don’t know….she’s milking my cock….it’s like sex but its…not…” He could barely speak around the controlled effort not to fuck the shit out of her, I presume.

“Carrrrieeee” I taunted. “You just can’t help yourself, can you. You’re trying to come.”

She didn’t answer me. She was lost. I moved and stood right next to him, facing her. I whispered to him to not dare come. She had listened to me; she wasn’t moving her body but I could just make out the movements of her cunt. With my camera held precariously in one hand, aimed at their sexes, I used my other hand to briefly tease and kick her over the edge. With a finger on either side I lightly stroked his cock and let my fingers trail down to do the same to her clit. Back up, back down. My eyes on her face, my camera much lower. Another few strokes and I stopped so that I could concentrate on taking photos of her coming while stretched out around his cock. She whined her apology and her body began these subtle convulsions as she began to come.

“John, you are still not to come, do you hear me?” To his credit he did not…..until she finished contracting around his cock and I told them we were finished. The outward stroke of his cock exiting her body was the last straw, or perhaps the dam just being released. As he climaxed, he sunk to his knees, cock in hand with this full-body look of sheer relief, frustration and bliss all rolled together. I caught that on camera too, clicking away. More for my personal collection.

I kissed her goodbye, deeply, to let her go shower and get dressed.

“Well, John, if you’ll excuse me I need to go pretend to upload these shots to my computer while I actually go jerk off real quick. You two finished, now I need to.” I said. But he grabbed my wrist and pulled me down to him for a kiss. As my clothes were shoved aside I soon found out that he wasn’t quite satisfied and wouldn’t dare leave me to tend to my needs by myself.

Long and skinny, it’s not enough. It’s a tease, a horrid tease, it makes me mad.

Two has a purpose

Two can stick firmly side by side and do curl-ups like they teach in books and magazines.

Two isn’t bad but soon I’ll ask for more.

Three, give me three, I need to feel the feeling of being full in a way

At first three felt like four, like a magician’s ruse. I couldn’t quite believe you that three wasn’t four.

Three hurt in that delicious, big way.

The next time around, though, three was the new two and I soon found my hips silently reaching for four.

And somewhere along the way, four snuck in.

But my eyes were closed and I couldn’t see the logical, I only saw colors as I focused on the sensations.

I close my eyes so that I may feel more intensely and more surely.

I close my eyes so that nothing distracts me from the climb.

Afterwards, in my giggly hazy post-game show, I was in happy awe when you said it was four, right up to the knuckles and a little bit of five, even! As I stared at your hand and marveled at the width my cunt just stretched, stretched like a toothless grin, I showed you how to form your hand so that five might gain entrance next time. It’s my goalpost and not yours, but you aim to please nonetheless.

It’s not until later that I think it over and I mentally compare his hand to His hand. The hand that’s been there is an artist’s hand, a drummers hand. Strong but long and thin. His hands rough and bigger, His fingers are thicker. And I wonder if His hand would ever have been able to gain full entrance. But I shudder a little when I remember that this was His curiosity as much as mine and he would have made that hand go in there, no doubt about it.

I think that my G-spot has been trying to pick up the slack from my clit.

Meaning, despite having a clit o’steel, my G-spot is mightily responsive now that I know her exact address. She was an elusive bugger, akin to locating Platform 9 3/4. Thanks to my Pure Wand though we’re now very friendly neighbors.

I’m sure I’ve mentioned that my clit o’steel leads to another sad occurrence: clitoral orgasm from oral sex is nigh on impossible. “Close but no cigar” is the usual outcome. Thankfully my hubby has no issues with letting a vibrator finish me off.

Last night was no different in that regard but on the plus side he has become as well acquainted with my G-spot as Mr. Pure Wand has. The women whose orgasms aren’t falling like ripe apples will know what I mean when I say that he had me in such a frenzy that my body was quite literally climbing for release. My legs writhing, my pelvis rocking and humping his hand and mouth; my arms reaching for unseen extra partners and my hands grasping empty air or bunching up the bedsheets; my torso arching up off of the bed. I must have looked like a woman possessed and that’s just what I felt like.

Something else amazing was happening as I was pleading with my body to tip over that edge of clitoral orgasm (in one moment of delusional insanity I was picturing that awful yodeling Swiss plastic man from this one Price is Right game except this time I wanted him to topple off the mountain), my G-spot took the wheel and holy wow. I wanted to ask him how many fingers he was pumping inside of me but I couldn’t form words. Like the angel and the devil on your shoulders my mind and body alternately begged for clitoral orgasm and reveled in the G-spot orgasm. I finally brushed off the devil representing my clit and rode out the G-spot waves. To his credit he didn’t stop his fingers and hand until I closed my thighs and silently let him off duty.

Still unable to speak, he carefully climbed up and started fucking me. I say carefully because the fibromyalgia can even affect sex when my whole body is extra-tender to the touch – this even included my cunt. There had been an underlying achy pain as he was thrusting his fingers inside of me but the pleasure greatly outnumbered it. Hubby came after a few minutes, which is good because my G-spot couldn’t take any more pleasure. He had commented prior to the sex that I was a lot wetter than usual; I could tell as he was fucking me that it wasn’t my usual wetness – thinner and more slippery than silky.

Despite all that goodness my clit was still thumping for attention so I asked him to hand me the Hitachi. I spread myself open so that the head of the Hitachi had more direct contact with the pelvic bone buried under flesh just to the right of my clit – this placement allows the vibrations to spread to the legs of my clitoris, the portion that’s internal. When I turned it on, I knew then that I had indeed squirted/gushed earlier. There was so much fluid and wetness pooling in between my plump outter labia that the vibrations of the Hitachi sounded like a mini motorboat churning in the water. It’s an obscene sound, no hiding how wet I am. He helped me along after a few frustrating moments of “almost there” and his fingers again felt fatter and larger than normal. I likely woke up the neighbors with that orgasm.

The details of downtime moments are lost to the haze of orgasm recovery but I can recall us laying there, panting, him asking me if I’m alright and I just laughed insanely. I recall asking him if he could tell when I gushed while his fingers were in me and he said:

“I have no idea, my hand was numb.”

I was silent for a few seconds and then apologized while laughing. And then thanked him while giggling.

Oh and I finally asked him how many fingers he had used. I fully expected him to say 4, with the way it felt. But no, it was only 3. Perhaps it felt like more because of the flare-up. I’m simultaneously looking forward to and doubting a future attempt at fisting. Can he? But oh it might feel awesome! My cunt says “it might hurt!” but my G-spot says “I don’t fuckin care, bitch!”.

The movie was decent, but I was reminded why I hate going to movie theaters – too many annoying people all around. We had seen an 8 o’clock showing which meant that the mega-cineplex was bursting with people and the parking lot so full that we had to park a dozen or more rows back. By the time we got out of our movie though the lot had cleared out a good bit.

We started out in the front seats, kissing and making out like teenagers. It was erotic but also an exercise in frustration. After the third banged knee against the gear shift column, I realized why people don’t fuck in cars anymore. The change in the automobile industry to move from bench seats in the front to individual bucket seats was such a detriment to getting it on in your car. Our hands roamed above waist level but our bodies could not touch. My pelvis was humping the air of its own accord, a testament to how horny I was getting and how badly I needed a finger or three in my cunt.

Finally, I looked to the back seat and said “Move back. Now.”

And out we scrambled, like a perverted Chinese Firedrill, all mussed-hair and disheveled-clothes. Ah, the back seat. Considerably better than bucket seats and gear shifts. Speaking of gear shifts, in a brief “that would be so hot” conversation in between kisses we lamented the fact that the car had the straight-up style gear shift typical of automatic transmissions rather than the bulbous fat shape of manuals. I think that sort would have filled my cunt and given my hips something to buck against.

We got more daring and soon clothes were a hindrance to our insistent hands. I fully believe that there is little else more delicious than the slow drawn-out saunter from second base to third base and so on.

Hands groping with thin barriers of satin or cotton adding a frisson of naughty teenage-like lust.

Lips always kissing, never parted from skin in some way.

And when hands finally dare to delve into skin-on-skin contact it is electric and heady.

We tried in vain to find a good position in the back seat to allow easy access to each others’ bodies but it wasn’t happening. We stopped, frustrated and breathless and thought. At apparently the same time we both realized that there was one more area to explore: the back cargo area of the SUV. Of course this meant that we had to get out, yet again.

“Move back….”

A quick glance around and we confirm that no one appears to be around. So I grabbed the keys and we got out. I unlocked the back – up went the window first and then the bottom half of the door. The dome light came on but a flick of its switch killed it. We had enough light from the parking lot, we didn’t want more.

But before we got into our makeshift sex cave, my hormones and need got the better of me. I lifted his tshirt over his head and quieted his protests by explaining that it would waste too much precious time and energy trying to remove clothes after we got in. He quit complaining the moment I was topless, standing outside of the car in the parking lot light. We scrambled in and closed the door behind us. He went to pull the window portion down and I stopped him. “It will get way too hot in here if we don’t leave that open”, was all it took to convince him.

So we laid in the back, limbs entwined kissing as we got comfortable with the latest stage of undress. Not only were we more exposed to each other, but the thin layer between us and the outside world was distracting. We heard the crickets and felt the warm breeze over extra-sensitive skin, and slowly relaxed against giving a shit about each car we heard drive by somewhere in the lot. Before hands resumed exploring, our bodies teased. I ground my cunt against his hip, groaning as the pressure and the friction from our underwear made me even more wet. I brought my knee up slowly, lighting pressing and rubbing my knee and leg against his hard cock that was trapped in his boxers.

Soon hands took over and we giggled as noticed that we each had a big wet spot on our underwear. Much semi-chaste rubbing commenced, teasing each other with fingers over fabric. This is the stage of getting drunk on lust. Riding a line between bliss and torture, the ache in your chest from the need for more fights with the pleasure being given that is both mental and physical. Mental in that its a game of how far can you drag it out, of extending that high-school overtone of “we shouldn’t be going this far”. This is foreplay at its best. Where each long-awaited step is so utterly satisfying.

When his fingers first slid across my slippery cunt I let out a string of lusty curse words. When my hand closed around the head of his cock he groaned loudly. Our breathing so rapid that we’d have used all the oxygen inside the car had we not left that window wide open. Speaking of that window…..we didn’t remember to stay quiet until we realized that things had gotten more noisy outside. We had been at it so long that a movie had let out. I licked his cock from base to head with a slow stroke and moans drifted out to the people getting in cars around us. I saw the tops of a few heads walk by out of the corner of my eye. As I rolled to my back to let him bite and suck my nipple my whimperings caused someone to walk by us closer; close enough that we locked eyes for a second.

I needed release, I had reached my breaking point. When the noise around us quieted down, I climbed on top of him and rubbed my cunt on his cock, my hips bucking as I teased him. I was so wet, audibly wet, that no hands were needed for his cock to slip inside of me. He snaked his hand in between our bodies and his fingertips found my clit. I was grinding my clit into his fingers with his cock buried to the hilt. I sat up enough to put one hand on the frame of the door for leverage. I felt the urgency climb and the tingles start to spread at the same time I heard car doors slamming in the distance. As my pelvis bucked furiously against him the lights from that car softly illuminated me from the shoulders up. He noticed this and used his other hand to push on my belly, push me away from him so that I was sitting up more. My skin, from tits on up, glowed now in the bright lights as the car approached. I was in a race to come before the car got to us. It was a tie. With a few jerks of my body I came violently as the car closed in and slowed down, presumably they caught sight of me. I turned my head from the blinding light as I heard the sound of gravel crunching under tires as they drove past slowly. I didn’t look, I couldn’t. But they saw and they knew what they were seeing and what remained hidden.

We laid there a while, naked and recovering on our backs, cooling down with the breeze, just softly talking and laughing. We agreed that our third date had a lot to live up to after following an act like that.

At the beginning of my sophomore year of college I worked for the school paper doing photography. Since I was the only one of the photographers with good darkroom experience, it was my domain. My escape. My quiet corner of darkness. I knew what I was doing in there, the chemicals didn’t bother me and I could be there for hours. Also at this time I was enjoying a brief period of the singleton life and having fun. Perhaps a little too much fun.

I actually had access to two different darkrooms on opposite ends of the campus. One in a standard classroom building, the other in the student union near the office for the paper. I had keys to these places but my access was limited to the hours of the buildings.

My darkroom didn’t have furniture really, nothing to sit on except for one classroom style chair. I never had time to sit when I was printing, anyways. My boytoy of the time accompanied me one night to the office and darkroom inside the student union building; I had wanted to quickly develop and print a few photos taken that evening. In the eerie darkness of the red room, he started teasing me while the third and final print was in the developer tray. One minute of kissing my neck. He stopped while I moved to the stop bath tray. 20 seconds of pinching my nipples. Fixer tray next, there he spent about 2 minutes kissing me. Finally, the wash, where he spent 4 minutes letting his hands roam and tease under my clothing. During all of this I couldn’t do anything – my hands had chemicals on them, and I couldn’t let the photo paper just sit there in tranquil liquids. As I hung the photo up to dry, he stripped down to nakedness. As I washed my hands thoroughly, he stripped me from the waist down. After my hands were dry I threw off my remaining clothes as quickly as I could because he was waiting for me. Sitting on the chair, condom already on, waiting for me to climb onto his lap and impale myself on his cock.

We no sooner started fucking before I remembered the time; a glance at his watch showed that it was 12:50 – the security guard would be around soon to check that this hallway and these offices were empty. Fine except for one thing – the light outside my darkroom door, visible if you peered into the glass door of the office. The light that clearly indicated that the darkroom was in use. The only way to shut off that light was to shut off my red safety light. I locked the door for good measure and slowly inched my way back to him. While it is visually appealing to see your naked partner’s body and face during sex, there is also something to be said for relying on quiet vocal cues and touching.

Shortly before 1am we heard the guard enter the outer office. Our hearts pounding, we ceased all movement and listened. Or rather, we tried to cease all movement. I started rocking on his lap, just barely. A marginal amount of stimulation, more tantric than anything else. We heard the guard walk to the door of the darkroom; his hands on my hips led me to increase my movements to be a little bit faster and a little bit deeper as the guard tried to turn the handle to darkroom. I held my breath, hoping the guard wouldn’t feel the need to use his keys and open the door. He didn’t. The sound of footsteps grew more distant until we heard the sound of the office door closing. Suddenly he roughly grasped my hips and started pistoning his hips, fucking me as hard and as fast as possible. The huge risk of getting caught tipped us both over the edge, fast.

Did I mention that when the Union closed, I had to be gone as well? You could get in pretty big trouble with campus security otherwise, plus the doors were locked. You couldn’t even get out without setting off the alarm.

We had 5 hours before the Union would be open again. In those 5 hours we fucked everywhere. We started off in the dark office; on the floor, on some editor’s desk. To be cute we each sat naked on the photocopier and copied our asses. Mine showed a portion of my pussy, just the slit but it was obvious what you were seeing (we had other things on our minds that night and ended up forgetting about these – they were found the next day. No, I never owned up to it). At some point we got dressed to leave the office area and hung out in one of the common areas where there were couches and chairs. We ended up fucking there, too. Always slightly paranoid with one ear listening for the sounds of a night guard. Around 4am we were laying on the floor behind a pool table, shadows covering us completely. We were tired but couldn’t keep our hands to ourselves. His fingers in my cunt, my hand wrapped around his cock, and a guard walking the hallway just 15 feet away with no wall to separate us. We slowed but we didn’t stop; neither did the guard.

At dawn we got dressed and plotted our escape so that the guard wouldn’t know we had been there all night. We got out safely and headed to the nearest dorm room where we slept the day away, tired and sore.

It seems that my dominant side is never the most prevalent. But when it does come out to play….I feel ruthless. Bitch extraordinaire. I have not had any experience dominating a woman be it in person or virtually, but I’ve already discussed (here and with others) my desire to do so.

I also must point out that I’ve never been much of a fan of the humiliation aspect of D/s, either receiving or doling out. Something more sinister, however, has popped up inside of me lately and I am finding myself aroused by the strangest things. A few weeks ago, at a meeting at work for our new unit assignments, the group was asked to do the school-classroom bullshit of “stand up and tell us about yourself”. Let it be known that I hate this. I am not comfortable speaking in front of people, even in such a casual setting. So I felt for this girl, I really did. She appears to be younger than me; pretty in a cute and “I’m trying to look cool” way. Perhaps someone I might be friends with. From my vantage point behind her and to her right, I was able to glance at her occasionally. When she stood up to speak each time, I noticed that she blushed furiously. She did not stammer, she did not show any other outward signs of feeling awkward. But I thought that the blushing was very cute. I think, partly, because at first glance her body language, style, etc was more “I’m cooler than you and this is all so lame” – but oh, what do we have here….vulnerability. Shyness.

I have read erotica- male narrator, shy and blushing female subject – of the similar nature. The man is dominating, domineering, pushy and delighting in her awkwardness. Aware that beneath the fear and nervousness lies arousal. I did not want to be in the shoes of the female, no, I think I more wanted to be the aggressor.

In my past fantasies of dominating a woman, I was never alone. It was a threesome. Perhaps a shared toy between a dominant and I. Perhaps a shared toy between a submissive man and I. But always, he was involved. I might have had the reigns of control but he was active in it. The fantasy has changed, morphed or perhaps I just have another one. He doesn’t participate. Instead, he watches passively. An audience. Another element to heighten her embarrassment and shyness.

I’ll be ruthless, while the one who trained me watches with pride. I will show her precious size 6 little ass no fucking mercy. As she is bent in half in a standing-hogtied sort of way, her cunt is bared to me like a split peach. I can easily go from inflicting pain on her ass to her cunt.

But no….that only satisfies part of my desire. I wanna make her squirm. Blush. Cry. I want to break her.

I don’t want a slut who’s at ease with her sexuality. I don’t want a whore who’s been around this block a time or two. I want a girl who cringes when sex words roll off her tongue. I want to make her say cunt and clit and suck and nipple and fuck and I want her to blush while she says this stuff. Tease her with these words and the pain (the bittersweet raw pain) and the begging until she’s crying.

She enjoys it though. Beneath the blushing and the cringing and the crying and the whimpering and the pink-red skin from my slapping and flogging she is dripping wet and aroused beyond belief. And that’s why I’ll love it, that’s what will fuel me to dig deeper. Before I break her, before she’ll full-on beg to come all over my hand, I’ll torture her. I’ll have to. Leave her at the edge of her orgasm…..make her watch me get fucked (and loving it) from my Dom. Taunt her with my orgasm. It’s going to be hard for her to watch, her instinct will be to turn her head but I won’t let her.

I want to watch the boiling point of her arousal and humiliation come to a head and erupt. At my command, at my hand. I want to break her…..and laugh at her misery. An evil giggle, a demeaning chuckle.

I’ve got a few things/issues/grievances/hurts of late that I need to take out on some poor girl. I just need to find a suitable one. Now accepting applications….

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